us traitors never win
by the birds were flown
Summary: Misdirection hadn't been a lie, it was far too close to the truth. She'd nearly slipped last night as well, and she promises that won't be happening again any time soon.
1. prologue – some things

_us traitors never win_  
 **prologue – some things she did better alone, some things**

 **Summary:** Misdirection hadn't been a lie, it was far too close to the truth. She'd nearly slipped last night as well, and she promises that won't be happening again any time soon.

 **Prompt:** I love explosive relationships. I love all that passion and the seduction and flirty knitty gritty stuff. I love relationships that bring out both the worst and best out of each other and rile each other up whether it's sexually or mentally, like kind of like a mini little hurricane that takes you on fast rides and dizzy spells but still makes you feel some kind of romance. And that is exactly what peterfel/spidercat is to me. If Gwen Stacy is the vanilla girl next door and Mary Jane is the wild card one "true love" of Peter Parker, Felicia Hardy is a storm, that whirlwind romance, that steak dinner Peter Parker can't afford, the woman he should be with but ultimately can't take the risk to have. And this is how I'm going to write them.

 **A/N:** I want to preface this by saying first, I have only played The Heist and I've tried my best to avoid all spoilers for the other DLCs of the game (I got the actual game for Christmas y'see) even though I have a good idea on how it plays out based on some accidental tweets and pics that I saw. Also, I won't be able to play the rest of the DLCs until for another long while bc I'm leaving back for university after Christmas break and I'm not taking the console with me. Regardless of all that, this piece is written with only the The Heist in mind so pls when reading this consider Turf Wars and Silver Lining nonexistent. Anyway, this will mostly be PS4 verse with a sprinkle of comic and film verse every now and then but mostly PS4 verse.

 **Disclaimer:** Rights belong to Marvel.

* * *

The bomb had to go off—it just had to.

Just one less little line to mark off her checklist—and an important one too. With a stubborn flick of her hair, she grapples her way out of the wreckage, marvelling at the sight of cinders and fire catching air. The smell of burning metal and concrete is satisfying, just like the look on her lover's face – mask or not, she can sniff the devastation a million miles away, especially if it's on _him_ of _all_ people. His call of _Felicia_ sweetly triggers her in ways she'll never forget, and catches her breath— _her heart_ —off guard. With one last glance, she lifts a sharp brow up, and the corners of her lips tug slightly upwards to a sly smirk.

"Well Spider, looks like you do care."

She somersaults off the balcony and flips off into the city lights, the bright red sirens, and into the foggy New York City night, not a single strand of silver hair left undusted. Her past burns along with her chest, tight and red—but she's always done some things better alone, and _this_ is just _one of those things_. She lets go of her hook, the air cold against her cheeks as she free falls into it with the night her perfect cover, leaving everything behind. Well, not everything, she supposes – some things are much too precious—too attached, too _permanent_ —to let go of.

Speaking of which—

"Hello there, my beautiful babe."

She whispers into the small cradle, much too tiny for a three years old – but he insists on staying, and who is she to deny such a beautiful little creature— _her_ cute little spider—such an innocent and pitiful request. Softly, she kneels down and presses a gentle kiss on her baby's forehead.

That night, she'd arrived home late – home as in, Queens and its quaint little neighborhood, with the tall lamp posts and their orange lights, brown buildings and their cemented alleyways, and her one bedroom apartment. She'd said all she needed to say, heard all she needed to hear, and did all that she needed to do—she ruefully hopes—in _the city_ and now, it was time to move on—back to the one person, _one man_ willing to wait for her without a reckless thought or abandon. He is small—tiny, such a tiny little babe—and so lovely too, the perfect mix of her vixen beauty, and the wide innocence of that _too-good-for-this-world_ sperm donor. _This child is mine_ , thinks to herself, _mine and not his_.

"Mommy?"

A sleepy whine slips past the boy's plump lips, into the darkness, and she shushes him with a tender finger to his cheeks—just like she once did with his _would've been_ father.

"Silence my sweet, and go back to sleep. It's a long journey away from home, tomorrow morning."

His big brown eyes blink owlishly at her, curious and wondering, and she sees that same spark—an undeniable fire that only another certain pair of warm browns can light up inside of her. She releases a soft breath and pulls away, her silver hair falling as she unclasps the tight tie atop her head. She leans back and falls with a soft thud onto the chair just beside her babe's little cradle and his make-shift comforter. Brown eyes continue to watch her, with dark and soft curls falling haplessly over them. Tiny hands hold tight a small and familiar stuffed toy with white eyes and black webbing.

"How's daddy?"

He asks, and Felicia rolls her head back, unable to stare into those intimidating pair of brown innocence any longer.

"He's doing well, I suppose."

"Is he ready to meet me?"

"Not yet, darling—not just yet."

"Will he ever be ready?"

She pauses, and lets out a deep and heavy sigh. Her eyes are closed, her heart beats a little too fast, and everything is loud—her baby's breathing, the neighbors snoring, the call of the city and it's never ending traffic—it's all so goddamn loud. She breaks the noisy silence, shifting in her seat as she leans forward and stares back again into those same eyes. Her smile is sad as she pushes her baby's soft curls back.

"I don't know."

His lips quiver, and she thinks a little ways back—just a few hours ago. Perchance she came across a conversation she didn't mean to hear— _needed_ to hear. Words spoken by _her Spider_ that cuts a little part of her.

 _Honestly? I uh, I'm kind of relieved._

"Figures you would say that lover, you were always one to wish he could take the easy way out."

She'd said to herself at the time, somewhat unsure, somewhat convincing. She spied them across the street, chatting like playful little lovebirds, seeking comfort and answers – the kind she _never_ gave out. Her feet dangled over the edge of the fire escape, and she licked the vanilla off her lips.

"Always one for the sacrifice but if you were given the choice—well, let's not think about it."

 _With the right person._

"Tsk." Felicia huffed and kicked the bricked wall beside her, before she tumbled up to a stand, using the metal bars as support. "You've always been a bad liar Spider, I just didn't think you'd be so desperate to impress someone so—unmistakably beneath you."

With a flick of her wrist, she'd shot the hook across the other side of the street, behind the wall of the building just beside that familiar café. His old habits never died, she digressed and let her eyes trail after the couple, their sweet kiss and chaste handholding. The vile image made her stomach curl – not of jealousy, but of disgust. She gripped onto her grapple just a little bit tighter, and hissed at the snobbish smile of that red head reporter. Damsel journalists had always been catnips for pure hearts like her Spider.

"But then again, I suppose you do deserve each other, so safe and cozy in each other's arms, you'd never be able to offer me or my boy the adventure and thrill we crave in our lives." She muttered and flipped against one of the railings as she made to take her leave. "That's why I made the choice for you."

She saw the couple get up from their seats, fingers interlocked and lips curled into daunting careless smiles. She hated the scene—he was so unreachable, and it turned her on.

"I guess this is it, Peter Parker—until we meet again, _never_."

It felt nostalgic—her leaving without a trace, and him moving on. She'd come full circle, she supposed, since that last time around.

Sunny, she remembered it being.

The small rays flitted in through the small peeks of her blinds. They'd just fuck about the night before, hands and legs tangled all over each other and curly hair tickling soft and bare skin. When people asked her how she and her boyfriend broke up, and how'd she ended up single with a child, she'd simply shrug and say— _that's between me and the spider_. They never got it, always thought she'd just been playing. People thought it started with a big unfixable fight—heck, they still do, sometimes—about identities and masks, and moralities and crippled loneliness. But it was just a bottle of wine spilled and shared between their toxic breaths, and disgruntled groans from his and her lips as she'd put on her thong and fixed up her hair.

"Well Spider, I guess this is it."

She gestured to his phone that rang obnoxiously throughout the room for such an ungodly early time of the day. And she'd just finished sucking him off, too— _what a shame_.

"Felicia, I'm so sorry but MJ—"

"Hush now." She hissed with a well placed finger on his lips, her claws sharp and delicate. "No more of that, no need to explain."

She pulled him closer with her legs, and locked him into a quick and chaste kiss.

"I just, I can hang up if you want, but what if it's—"

"It's okay."

She pulled away from his hold, her expression sly and thinking _silly little spider_. She patted the string of her thong to be sure that it fits and pulled on her bra, clasping it at the back as she danced gracefully on her toes, around the rest of their fallen clothes on the floor. She then picked up her shirt by nudging the collar gently between her toes, and with her long elastic legs, lifted it up to her hands. Bending her back was much too tiresome.

"Our small arrangement was simple from the start, _Spider_ —you needed comfort and I wanted to pass the time."

Her hair was long—way too long, so she pulled it back with a tie, and set it firmly into a ponytail. Silver flashes flung behind her as she made to put on the rest of her clothes. The sunlight was still there, bright and guiding them, and the phone never stopped ringing. She wondered what he'd been thinking—if he was ever going to pick it up, or if he'd lift her up instead, and push her up against the windows, fucking her senselessly with no care in the world for that irritating call from some irritating red head. She guessed he'd only choose her once, and that had been then—her luck had run out. So she comforted him in a way, to comfort herself. With her slim index finger, she trailed it along his arm – her favorite thing to do – their eyes fixed on her sharp and painted nails as it glided across the dotted freckles of his skin.

"It's not that there's no strings attached, because, can't you feel this?" She breathed heavily as she lifted the rest of her hand up, and interlocked it with his, placing both firmly on top of her chest, just above her rapidly beating heart. "That's the vibration, the passion, that's what the something that we feel within and for each other.

She let both their hands drop and he stepped in closer, breath fanned over her nose as the corner of her lips lifted up, the way they would when she knew he was going to do something so _Peter_. She continued to trail with her finger every inch and crevice of his body, loved the feeling of him as he tensed up and stiffened with the ghost of her touch.

"We're connected by these lips," a finger to his lips, "these hips," and another to his hips, "and well—your tip."

She giggled as she teased him with a soft poke to his tip, which earned her a heavy groan from him. He began to complain, and he said her name just like the way she liked it— _ah, Felicia_ —so whiney and desperate, just like he was in bed.

"But the strings are loose, and it is what it is."

He sighed, knowing he wasn't getting anymore anytime soon, and sat down her bed as she continued to dress herself, this time pulling on her tight jeans.

"Just promise me you'll change Felicia, no more of—no more of the thievery and the old tricks."

"Aw, but life gets too boring if I don't have something to do."

She started packing up her bag now, emptying her closet and raiding her drawers for important things—little valuables that she owned. Such as pictures of her dad, her mother's jewelry, and friendly little notes he used to leave her behind after a good night of bed and backbreaking plays.

"Then use what you can do, all your gifts and talents, for good things."

She paused for a minute in her struggle to find her keys, and tilted her head seriously at him, eyes accusing.

"And what, do what you do?"

"That's not what I said."

"Save the world, save a city with one half of its residents hating the living sight out of you?"

"No, for other things."

"I'm sure the straight and narrow road works and does wonders for you and your too good eyes and heart, but it won't for me." She rolled her eyes at that before she continued searching, stripping the bed of its sheets before she heard the soft cling and thud of the keys falling to the carpeted floor. "We're different, you and I, and the life that you're suggesting, it's too bland."

"But you were with me, Felicia."

"Oh Spider—what of the things did we do was bland?"

"That's not what I meant."

"Was it the upside down sex? The skylight 69 on your webs, or was it the long talks about your uncle and my mother?" She picked the keys up and pulled on a black leather jacket as she made sure to double check that her phone was with her, and that her bag is full of all she that she needed. "I didn't mind those talks you know, I quite loved them."

"I loved them too, but that's not what I mean."

"You know I'd open anything for you Spider, both my heart, and my legs, but I can't do the things that you want me to do because it's not me and _being good_ is not made for me."

"Felicia—"

She threw her hair back as she picked up her bag and slung it behind her, kicking her helmet off the ground and catching in safely within her arms. This time, she was ready to leave, so she took a minute to stop, and stay— _just for a minute_.

Silence took over that minute.

"I won't make any promises Spider, but if I do go straight and narrow, you'll be the first to know." She said after the seemingly long silence, with that tone of finality. "But right now I have to go, there's some things I need to take care of, and you know what you have to do."

She pulled open the door and he was quick to web for a pair of boxer shorts left lying on the ground, before she could fully expose his bare and naked self to her neighbors. He knew she'd done that on purpose. Giggling, she glanced at him one last time.

"See you around Spider, until never."

"Bye, Felicia."

He whispered to her retreating back—except, she turned just slightly – enough to aim at him, but not enough that he can see her face – and threw something right at his face. He caught it—spider reflex and all—but he was still surprised as it landed on his palm. She'd always seem to do those kinds of things to him, powers or not.

"Oh and by they way, lock up will you Spider, and return my keys to nice old lady downstairs, she must be missing her apartment by now."

Realizing what she'd done, he did the only thing he knew to do when it came to her—

"Felicia!"

She'd never called, and neither did he. Too busy enjoying life with his rekindled relationship with that obnoxious red head. She'd spent a couple of days thinking about her next move, before she realized that some things have been left _overdue_.

"Oh dear."

She'd said to herself, staring at the under packet of tampons in the corner of her new makeshift home. She left for the store and took the test that very night, unsurprised at the two red lines staring angry at her.

"There's two."

She whispered as she slid down the cold bathroom wall. She wouldn't cry—not her of all people, but she wished she could sometimes. One hand on top of the dirty pregnancy test, clawing the tiled floor, the other on top of her stomach. She looked down, at where her hand lay, feeling for something— _anything_.

"Oh little man, I guess it'll be just the two of us."

Telling Spider had never been an option. Some things she did better alone, and _that_ was just one of those things. That had become something of a mantra to her. She'd have _loved_ to have him around, to hold onto when that painful birthing process came, to dote on her with that slippery dork of a smile, the one that made her feel so soft, and melted parts of the wall she's built around herself. But telling Spider also meant giving him no choice, and as much as she'd love that satisfaction of one-upping the love of his life as he claimed _that woman_ to be, she'd rather he stay for her and not for their— _her_ —baby. So she left it at that—as just the _two_ of them. Just the two of them.

 _"You can't do this alone!"_

 _"Why not? I've done everything else alone!"_

 _"I'm saying you don't have to!"_

"Hey." She calls her boss the morning after the heist and her supposed death, her little boy still snoring softly in his cradle, hands gripping tightly that stupid five-dollar stuffed toy. "I got you the drives, now give me back my son."

She whispers harshly against the speaker. _Misdirection_ hadn't been a lie, it was far too close to the truth. She'd nearly slipped last night as well, and she promises that won't be happening again _any time soon_.

"Patience, kitten." The man on the other line purrs and Felicia is physically sickened by his tone, literal shivers going up and down the back of her neck, but she stays put right where she is. "After all, it only takes one button to neutralize the bomb, and the same to activate it."

She hisses in response and he laughs. The sound is so loud and vile it shakes her babe almost to consciousness—but he remains asleep with a soft hush of her breath, nose crinkling at the man's ugly noises.

"You'll get your reward, and your son will be safe, he's with you isn't he?" She glances once more at her babe, tongue curling into a hateful yes. "As you can see, we're not doing anything to him right now, and rest assured that will always be the case, so long as you do as you're told."

"I'm tired of these games."

She snaps, her other phone vibrating. She takes a chanced glance at the caller ID and the name _Peter_ flashes much too quickly for her liking before the call is abruptly cancelled. She frowns.

"Ah, ah, ah, I thought you liked to play?"

"Not with my son's life."

"One last job and that'll be it." The man on the other side hums, knowing full and well she has no other choice. "I promise you, when it's done, we'll leave you to it."

She clutches her phone, and grits out her response.

"One last job."

"Of course."

With a deep breath, she takes it.

"Okay."

Staring longingly at her babe, she ends the call.

"Don't worry my little spider, mommy's going to fix this—we don't need daddy, we can do this all on our own." Dipping down to kiss forehead, her hands shake in away she's never known them to. "Just the two of us."

 _"Felicia, why didn't you come to me with this."_

 _"'Cause it's not your problem, it's mine. And I'll handle it."_

Some things she did better alone, but now—she's not so sure if _this_ is one of those things.


	2. chapter one – nine lives, part one

_us traitors never win_

 **chapter one – i've still got all nine lives left, part one**

 **Summary:** Nine times Felicia told Spider the truth, and the one time she lied. (1-4 out of 9+1)

 **Prompt:** I love explosive relationships. I love all that passion and the seduction and flirty knitty gritty stuff. I love relationships that bring out both the worst and best out of each other and rile each other up whether it's sexually or mentally, like kind of like a mini little hurricane that takes you on fast rides and dizzy spells but still makes you feel some kind of romance. And that is exactly what peterfel/spidercat is to me. If Gwen Stacy is the vanilla girl next door and Mary Jane is the wild card one "true love" of Peter Parker, Felicia Hardy is a storm, that whirlwind romance, that steak dinner Peter Parker can't afford, the woman he should be with but ultimately can't take the risk to have. And this is how I'm going to write them.

 **A/N:** I just want to preface this chapter by saying that this whole ass chapter, including the second part, is going to be Felicia centric, mostly focused on her time between her break-up with Peter, to present day Felicia. If you're here for supporting single mom Fel kicking everyone's ass, then this, my dear, is the chapter for you. Peter'll have his time to shine too, someday soon. If you're not into her journey as a single mother, I rly don't know what to tell you. On the one hand, you can skip it if you rly like? But it'll be a while before a non-Fel-centric chapter is out, bc you know I still have to finish and post the second half of it. And also, this might be worth reading on its own regardless of how you feel about the Fel-centric bit bc this, or well I guess the second half of this particular chapter has some interesting things that will tie into the plot altogether. But bby you do you, I ain't forcing anyone to read this. Other things that need to be noted, even though I've done a lot of research in pregnancy and giving birth, there's still a lot of medical and situational inaccuracies in this piece bc there's only so much you can read about online, you know. Also, I tried to frame the events as closely to the PS4 canon timeline as I possibly can, one thing I will note is that the prequel comic to this isn't canon, bc I took some liberties with Peter and MJ's relationship. Also, about this chapter—I'm not inherently familiar as of yet with Felicia's lore and background, and I know that her father plays a huge role in her life and persona, but idk if her mother has been mentioned enough times to create a concrete backstory on that side of her family, so I added my own little spin to it, a few creative liberties which I hope you don't mind—it works well with the tone I'm setting out for the rest of the fic.

 **Disclaimer:** Rights belong to Marvel.

* * *

The breeze is warm, but it's nice.

Sometimes, she would allow herself a few moments to revel in this sort of calmness, the quiet trees, the fresh whisper of the wind, and the smell of musk and her mother's mothy scent. That's just sometimes though— _never all the time_. She was born and bred in the city, and it's all she's ever known all her life – there's a pull there that she can't quite comprehend—the noisy people shouting and cars honking, and the confused lights littered all across the New York City map. She'll always feel at home under the care of that dusty and polluted sky. But sometimes—the quiet is _just_ fine.

Her mother's touch is weak, and her smile gentle as she pats Felicia's arm.

"Thanks for visiting me again."

Conversations with mother always starts out like this. They talk in circles for hours and hours, but Felicia never minds – the thing is, she used to mind it—somehow—but she doesn't anymore.

"Of course."

She hums, pushing the wheelchair through the gravelly path of the center's front gates. Portland is quiet today, she concludes.

"And he's grown so big."

Her mother gestures at her baby who's walking shyly behind her, hands tugging at her long black slacks as they stroll past the beautiful flowerbeds.

"I suppose he has."

Felicia mutters, wistful.

"What's his name again?"

"Walter."

"Ah, my husband had that same name."

"You don't say."

It gets quiet, just for a little while, and Walter squirms, hugging that stupid stuffed toy again, looking for comfort in the only father figure he'd ever had. Felicia has _no regrets_ , she nods to herself.

"I wonder where he is."

"Who?"

"My husband."

A pause.

"Me too."

"I wonder if he'll come visit me soon."

Another pause.

"He might."

"What's your name again?"

"Felicia." She swallows thick, and Walter drops his toy. "Felicia Hardy."

Freaking out, the small boy hurries to pick up the fallen spider, dusting the forehead off before hugging it close to his heart once again.

"Walter, that's dirty."

Felicia mutters absently, pushing forward with their stroll until they finally reach the cemented floorboards.

"That's a lovely name." Her mother comments gleefully. "I would name my daughter Felicia."

"You have."

"Oh, did I? Sometimes I forget you see."

"I know." Deep breath in, deep breath out. "I know."

"Thanks for visiting me again."

It's been the same talk of names and wondering of dead husbands over _and over_ again, long before Walter was born three years ago. She remembers it all, every single one of those conversations, even if her mother doesn't.

The first had occurred around the time she'd wanted to reveal her pregnancy to the one and only family she knew was left, but then things got tight and her mother's— _condition_ —got worse. She didn't think Lydia Hardy would ever have the pleasure of knowing that she's got a grandchild, and maybe that hurt her a little more than she wanted it to. But she'd never admit that back then she'd been scared, or lonely – all she needed was some sort of— _spark_ —to dull out that ache in her life, she told herself. And that was why, she wanted to see her Spider again, so she did—without him knowing, and it all spiraled on from there.

 **One.**

 _I like watching you._

That wasn't a lie. That was never a lie. She did—she really did.

After the mishaps with her mother and short trips to her doctor, she'd often watch him. Sometimes on a rooftop across the street, sometimes from the very same diners or cafés he'd frequent, under the cover of bright lights and a big menu. And other times, she'd just spy him through the security cams of all the places he visited. Obsessed wouldn't be the right word for it—just, wondering.

She passed the time with eyes on him and his every move, and his freckled best friend with the glasses, and his very bouncy red-head _girlfriend?_ —she wasn't really sure herself, seeing as those two had a very flaky _I want you but I'm not ready to have you just yet_ relationship—not like she could speak for herself.

"Look at that honey, your would-be father's a bit of a clumsy flirt isn't he?" She mused, mostly to herself, but sometimes—to her unborn child. "And here I thought he'd finally have the balls to get back together with little Miss Wannabe Reporter."

It did kind of make her want to storm in there and just take him back for herself—but _she couldn't_. She knew that very well. So instead, she tried to distance herself— _just a little bit_ —from his base of operations as much as possible, never wanting to cross paths _ever again_ – until _he_ was ready—not _her_ , because she has always been ready.

But although she'd been a little ways farther from the city, she still looked after him—and did her job, of course. They were petty little acts of thievery of petty little things from petty little people—like pearl necklaces no one ever used to care about –but once they were taken, their value increased exponentially – engagement rings worth tens to thousands of millions, and maybe even small pieces of art work if she could ever be sure her Spider never heard a word of it.

"I hope you don't turn out like daddy, darling." She said one night, after a long day of setting up her new place in Queens, a small one bedroom apartment with a cozy kitchen and big bathroom. "Such a workaholic."

She'd been munching on pizza as she watched the live security feed from one of the banks being robbed by high stakes criminals. There in all his red and blue glory was her Spider, fighting crime and with his never-ending chatter. She _almost_ smiled—but she caught herself just before she did, and stuffed her face full with another slice of pepperoni pizza. The clock read 4am.

"I don't think I'm a better example though." She ruefully giggled to herself as she moved the mouse of her laptop to click off the feed. "Mommy's just about to start work, darling."

She let her hand lay on top of her stomach as she felt for that absent bump. She patted it gently, just slightly below where her belly button should be, and hummed. She tossed away the oversized t-shirt she wore, an old ESU grey top that smelled a little too much like her Spider, and peeled on her skin tight get-up. It was doable, she supposed—but it was much too restricting, and definitely not something a pregnant woman should be wearing. But she'd figure it all out as she went along, she always, _always_ , did.

 _The title of a mother doesn't always fit the first time around, but it will eventually._

She took off for the night, midsummer air tight against her lungs. It had only been two months since she found out, since she'd last spoken to him, but it felt like forever without his touch all over her body. She shook her head away from such tedious thoughts and swung off into her job—another black market trade should get her through the next few months.

Routine came and went, with little changes made every now and then to accommodate her body's needs and her desire to keep her baby healthy. But the one constant in this newfound change, was her clueless little Spider living his best life. She would always come back for him, she even went as far as writing little notes on a journal and taking pictures of her journey. She knew he loved capturing moments in photographs, so she documented every step of the way with snapshots. Even the things that she ate.

 _"Why do you like taking pictures so much?"_

She asked him once as they laid in bed, legs tangled, and hearts beating fast and breathless.

 _"I want to remember."_

He took a quick shot of her face as she sprawled before him, naked and bare, save for the mask that rested atop the bridge of her nose.

 _"Remember what?"_

She whispered a moan, her breast pressed against his arm.

 _"I don't remember what my mom looked like before she died, she didn't take a lot of pictures of herself."_ He mumbled softly, his hand moved to peel the camera off his face, and brought it up to inspect the photograph that he'd taken. _"Dad didn't like keeping pictures of our family around either – he was scared it'd be evidence for, well—whatever."_

A breath.

 _"You want to remember my face?"_

She asked him, cautiously and seriously, no play by the tongue, no cheek to her voice. And his eyes widened as he shifted to look back at her, eyes dilated in focus, much like a camera lens. Swiftly, she tugged at the string behind her ear, and pulled off the mask hiding away her face. That had been the first time Peter Parker truly gazed into those olive eyes with specs of blue.

 _"Hello Spider, my name's Felicia—Felicia Hardy."_

And the camera flashed.

Felicia smiled fondly at the memory as she tucked away the photographs she'd taken, and the little letters that she'd written in a small box cornered by the side of her bed, fingers gently caressing each and every edge of the items before her. The picture he'd taken of her that night, of her naked body and her first unmasking before him laid at the top of the box, all other photographs mixed in with everything else she deemed important. Her gaze dropped to one new piece of photograph left to the side, and she picked it up ever so gently.

"Oh Spider."

She trailed the edges with her sharp nails, careful not to inflict any sort of damage to the fragile little thing. She wanted to protect it with everything she had—everything she was. And she wished he'd be here to help her protect it. She knew he'd love to be, she knew he'd want to be. Because he was _so so good_ , and he'd love this little babe as much as she would, _maybe even more_.

"We're having a boy." She wistfully breathed out, unable to deny herself the small joy that sparked within her body as she stared at the ultrasound of her peanut shaped heart. "A beautiful baby boy."

That night she celebrated with a three course meal at the most expensive restaurant in the neighborhood, paid by the ring of a guy she'd _accidentally_ bumped into on her way out of her street.

"I'm sorry Miss." The brown haired man of twenty-something bashfully apologized as he offered a hand to help her out. "I didn't see you there."

His eyes never left the small bump by her stomach, and her slim fingers trailed softly his rough and calloused hand, leaving no evidence she'd ever slid the ring off his merry little finger. Her touch so invisible, he hardly noticed that she'd already gotten up and bid him adieu, a lovely smile plastered on her face that caught just about anyone who chanced upon it, off-guard. Blushing, he waved her goodbye with his own dopey smile. _Such innocence_ , she thought to herself—it reminded her a little too much of someone else she knew _all too well_. But he was no Peter Parker – after all, this was the rich side of Queens, and only the royals ever dared walk these streets—lucky for her, she lived just right around the corner.

 **Two.**

 _I really tried going straight. Got a job that didn't involve breaking or entering, even started wearing sweatpants on weekends._

Walter Benjamin Hardy was born on the fourth of January, a premature little babe, so small he could barely survive the night. There was a lot of blood, sweat, tears, and no one to hold her hand, but Felicia made it through—she always knew she'd be okay, she just knew it. She couldn't even hold Walt just yet the minute, even the week, he was born—he was much too frail and in need of immediate care, only thirty-six weeks old. She watched helplessly as the nurses wrapped him up in a small bundle, before carting him off to God knows where. Her protests died on her lips as the fatigue took over her body. She fainted as soon as she'd lost sight of her child.

A mild fever, weak knees, and a curious case of anaemia had kept Felicia out of commission for the most part of her baby's first few weeks. She'd slept through the first three days after the birthing process, with the IVs stuck to her flesh her only source of nutrition. Upon waking up, she'd been disoriented and confused, before she passed out again. Only on the fifth day was she up and coherent, but her knees had still been too weak to take the weight of her malnourished body, so she laid on the hospital bed for a good long while, missing her child.

"When can I see my baby?"

She demanded in a hoarse whisper one particularly lonely night to the nurse in charge. It had been six days in total since Walt was born and she has had yet to see her child.

"Don't worry ma'm, you can see him as soon as you are ready to stand." The nurse chirpily responded with her unconvincing grin and curly strawberry hair. "We can't let you touch him yet for he is still too weak and small, his lungs have yet to fully develop, and his immune system is considerably nonexistent as of right now which is common for many babies, but especially for a premie like him."

The nurse started to fiddle with her IV, and checked the clipboard every now and then. She buzzed around Felicia's small private room like some sort of a busy bee. Felicia rolled her eyes and laid comfortably back into her much too small and suffocating bed, and forced her eyes shut as she listened to the nurse hum and bumble about.

"Once you're strong enough we can get you a wheelchair to see him through the glass screens." The nurse stopped for a moment and gave Felicia a heavy look of sympathy. "But it'll be awhile before you can properly hold him."

With one eye open, Felicia grunted in response and turned away, disappointed by the news—but not too aggressively mad. The nurse, irritating as she may had been, was _right_ and she'd do anything to keep Walt healthy and safe – even if it meant putting off their long awaited meeting for awhile— _just for a little while._

"Darling, don't worry." She mused to herself. "Mommy will be with you soon enough."

"Is it just you and he, Miss?"

The nurse asked one last time as she prepped to leave the room, and Felicia nodded in response.

"I suppose it is. But you don't need to worry, we are all we need, _after all_."

The door clicked shut and Felicia was left to herself with loud thoughts and a weighted heart.

After that, it'd taken three weeks— _three goddamn weeks_ she had been there, just sat there, waiting for the chance to finally hold her baby in her arms. To touch him and kiss his cute little button nose, and creased little forehead. There were too many complications that arose in between the birth and that moment— _god_ , how she'd longed to just be with her child through it all.

First it'd been the low-grade fever. It turned out that Walt had a small infection, nothing that couldn't be fix with constant monitoring and proper care under the incubator, but Felicia was still forbidden to see her child in fear of his weak immune system. So she stayed settled down in her grim private room at the hospital from which she was beginning to hate. She'd rather stay in a shared room separated solely by a curtain if it meant more company than just her never dying thoughts.

Next, there'd been the mild case of food poisoning. When Walt was finally healthy enough to take off constant monitoring, and Felicia was finally able to stand up and walk her way to his ward, she'd accidentally eaten a bad batch of hospital food which resulted in her being bedridden for the rest of the day, and the day after. Mildly perturbed she was, but she stuck it out for her child. That didn't stop her from cursing that god awful canteen and their assortment of expensive poisoned merchandise. She'd nicked a couple hundred of bucks to make up for it—Felicia after all, was still a thief and thievery never slept, even when one was suffering a major case of stomach aches and constant vomits.

The third had been the worst of it all. There was a gas leak in her wing of the building and her entire floor had to be evacuated and quarantined. It took _twelve goddamn hours_ for all that to be sorted out only for them to call a semi false alarm and that the gas released hadn't been dangerous. Felicia asked after being settled back into her bed if she'd be able to see her child now, and lo and behold—they couldn't risk it just yet. It'd take a few days before the gas wore off, and what may had been acceptable to her body was very dangerous to that of a premature baby.

So three weeks it was.

Finally.

It was a sunny day once again, the day she'd been able to hold her baby softly in her arms, and walk out those downtrodden hospital doors. _Perfectly befitting_ , she'd thought to herself, as Walt— _lovely little Walt_ , slept soundly against her chest. The baby bag had been packed, all instructions and information she needed nicely tucked inside a neat little folder one of the NICU nurses had happily compiled for her.

After weeks of deliberation, she'd decided she was not going anywhere near her baby until she herself had been healthy enough to leave the hospital for good. So, with long-suffering patience, she did well getting better. At the three-week mark post Walt's birth, she was finally discharged and not only that, Walt too was deemed healthy enough to breathe without the aid of an incubator, and even leave the hospital should she wish they did so.

And they did so.

That day she came into their ward, and stepped nervously into the room, her hands shaky and breath heavy. The nurse on watch had smiled gently at her as she ushered Felicia into Walt's crib, and for the first time since the birth, she stared right into her baby's eyes, those big brown innocents that reflected everything she'd scorned about her past lover. He had thin tufts of curled hair lined across his forehead, and a small button nose that she'd recognized anywhere. He was too much like her Spider that it hurt to know that this child whom she carried for nine months and gave a long, agonizing and lonely birth to, this child she loved so much her heart could break any minute—his only resemblance to her were his thin lips that curved in that way hers did with that sly and teasing smirk.

"Unbelievable."

She whispered as she held him close, hands gently tracing his chubby little cheeks. For a moment she let her finger lay, just there above his heart, and he unknowingly grabbed it, and squeezed it tight as if in a desperate plea. And Felicia knew she'd never be able to say no to this beautiful wonder _they'd_ created.

"Mommy's here baby." She unashamedly whispered into his forehead, a small kiss placed upon his soft baby skin. "And she'll never leave you— _ever_."

It was then that her life as a single mother truly began. But she'd never considered herself alone—not with Walt around, no.

She gave up a lot of things. Including her time out on the field. No one would look after Walt in her stead, and he was far too small— _too tiny_ —to be out on the field with her just yet. So she stayed put. She even got a job that didn't involve breaking or entering—a librarian, believe it or not. Working five days a week at a dingy little library, with pastel walls and the smell of dust and old books. The pay was decent—a kid was expensive, but Felicia had a little bit of money stashed away in one of her burner accounts that she'd taken, and it would undoubtedly last her until at least she was ready to go back out into the field again. It was easy to convince the director to hire her, she just fluttered her eyes and gestured at the babe sucking her nipple, and he'd been hooked, lined, and sinkered into her claws. Walt would stay by her side in his own baby cradle, courtesy of Mr. Wentz, her boss, and she could stroll him along with the books as she did away with her job. And almost immediately after Walt's birth, Felicia had decided to give up chasing after her Spider. She supposed that was just the life of a mother – no more play things and fun times, and no more petty little boys to dangle around her finger—she had a man now, a man more worth her time.

On the weekends she spent her free quietly at home, playing with Walt, and reading books she'd nicked from the library shelves only to return them the very next day. Felicia found it soothing, reading to her son as she strolled around their small apartment in a plain t-shirt and sweatpants. Some days she'd be doing extensive research for the future—she may not be out and about as of the moment but that didn't mean she'd quit thievery for life. She used books to build her network and up the value of her targets, from a couple of hundred thousands to almost billions in total. She entertained herself planning for all her future heists—and if every now and the she thought about some _nosey little spider_ chasing her all over Manhattan once again, _well_.

The mother and son stayed in Queens, on the down low. Felicia Hardy wasn't a very common name so she made a slight change—no one would be looking for Felicity Parker around this block of the neighborhood. And if anyone called her out on the obvious last name well— _it's convenient_ , she would say with a glass of margarita halfway up her lips. Some things she just couldn't let go of. By some miracle, despite the fact that May Parker lived only a few short blocks away from her side of the borough, and that it was well known her nephew would come and visit her at least once over the weekends—fate was unkind enough to never cross their paths once again. Disappointed, she couldn't say. She was _happy_. Coincidence—well, she supposed she planned to spy on him a lot, but that was before Walt was born. After that, it just didn't seem to matter anymore how far apart she and her Spider were because they were connected in ways no other people ever were—through the child she'd constantly held in her arms.

 **Three.**

 _I'm just curious._

Nine months after Walt was born, Felicia was back as _Black Cat_.

Her first night back she packed her stakeout bag, and listened gleefully to her baby spitting bubbles and clawing at the air above him. Goggles, binoculars, a colorful assortment of weapons, her grappling hook—which needed a major upgrade, if she did say so herself—a run down camera and its beaten up tripod—again, another piece of equipment that needed an upgrade—a whole day's worth of Chinese takeaway, her baby's small carrier that strapped at the back and hung tight at the front, and of course – if she ever got bored just waiting around, she always carried her cross-stitching kit, _just in case_. She picked up the little boy of nine months old whose slobber splashed all over her chin, but she didn't mind—she had learned not to. Walter was brave – he clung close to her during the long busy nights. There were changes to be made in the way she lived and did her work, but _honestly_ , some things she just couldn't let go of—after all, a girl's got to earn, specially with a baby as hungry as Walt to feed.

"If your would-be father were here, he'd be all over us, saying things like— _no Felicia, it's too dangerous_ , or _stay Felicia, I'll do it for you_." She mumbled to her small child whose eyes stared up at her with so much trust and wonder. "But he'd be so good to us—to me, to _you_."

She chuckled as he blinked cluelessly at her. One hand up, she tapped his button nose, and his forehead scrunched in that cute way she loved. Satisfied, Felicia dropped her hand to pick up her equipment.

"But unfortunately my love, daddy's not ready to be a daddy—I don't think he'll ever be." She hummed sweetly. "What do you think?"

Walt answered her with a grunt and a muffled little yawn as he laid his head softly against her padded breast. Felicia let her small smile drop into an intricate little frown.

"That's daddy's favorite little place to lay down on too, my sweet—you sure have a lot in common with him." Felicia hung by her grappling hook, one hand over her glasses to recalibrate her position, and the other fixing away the black binoculars stuck to the side of her gear. "Do you think you'd like to meet daddy one day Walt, or are you okay with just mommy around? I can give you the world sweetie, but a father is too much to ask."

Walt drooled on her, hands curled loose against the hard fabric of her chest plate. He made squirming and unsatisfied mewls which she took with a heavy heart as rejection.

"Of course you would think so." She grunted and flipped the both of them up, back to the roof. "Guess you and I have that in common too—an affinity for that boring, kind-hearted fool."

Felicia finished late that night. She didn't do any hard strenuous work, but she did have to fight off a couple of grunts to get her way—a small set-back but nothing too disastrous. Walt didn't make too much of a fuss. In fact, he'd been asleep the entire time she was out doing her job. As a treat to both herself and her Walt for being such a _good boy_ , she knocked a few dollars off her client's prize money, and swapped it for a stash of well-made fake dollar bills. Rich people were so self-absorbed, they'd never notice a single change in any of the single dollar bills she replaced. And with that, she changed into her most casual clothing and headed to the city for a quiet day with Walt.

It didn't even take a second for her to be within the ESU vicinity before she noticed a flash of familiar brown curls across the side of the road. Swiftly and quietly, she tucked Walt tightly against her chest as she made a quick beeline for the bus stop, just a couple of ways off from Peter and that red-headed wench whose name she could never remember—not that _she'd tried to_ in the first place.

"Look at that baby, daddy is out happily flaunting his plain woman around town, do you think we should see what they're up to?"

Walter rubbed his head shakily against her chin, and Felicia brightly took that as a yes. In one quick swerve, she hid herself amongst the crowd of people behind the seemingly happy couple. Walter purred softly and buried his face deep into Felicia's chest. Gently, she patted his back.

"Yes baby, mommy's wondering too if he's finally had the balls to ask Miss Plain out once again." Walt groaned in disapproval, and Felicia nodded her head in all seriousness. "Only one way to find out I suppose."

She made a quick turn to the right, stalking the two as they walked down a path Felicia was all too familiar with. She clicked her tongue as she watched them enter that same old building with the same old brown walls and the same old wooden decor.

"Daddy's too predictable darling—he never changes."

She snickered as she gently caressed her child's soft head of thin hair. She ran a hand through her own tangles of her long silver hair before she swept it all to one side of her neck as Walter hiccuped at the sudden strays tickling his button nose. Patiently, Felicia waited until the couple was finally seated—and when they were, Felicia would never admit it, but she thanked the stars Peter had decided to sit facing away from the chiming door of the diner.

"You know Walter, daddy loves this diner so much, and I don't understand why." She muttered, propping the carrier bag up, gently securing the tightness as Walter shifted uncomfortably at the sudden lack of space between he and his mother's soft chest. "Their food is bland and it's nauseating how _boring_ the decorations are. I'd take him to fancy restaurants more suited for my taste, and he'd scold me— _no Felicia, it's too expensive, stop Felicia you can't pay for it with the money you stole_."

She padded her way to the diner entrance—casual yet discrete, well dressed yet so ordinarily camouflaged to the everyday scene of the New York City crowd. She took a quick scan around to ensure not a thing out of place, and her cat eyes chanced a glance at the window where she could see clearly the laughing silhouette of her former lover and his _newfound_ partner. Before entering, she kissed her baby's forehead, her lips a soft whisper.

"If anyone asks Walt, that is why me and daddy broke up—he's just _too boring_ sometimes."

Not a caution thrown to the wind, she opened the door, silent and brisk—with a flick of a finger, she dropped a tiny bug just by their booth as she turned the other way and took a seat at a small corner booth, four away from the couple. The clangy and rusty door scraped to a close, and Felicia lifted a menu up and opened it wide like a book. She eyed the couple through the small gap allowed of her through the slits of the booths, and she saw _her Spider_ dressed in washed up jeans and faded plaids.

"Tsk—when mommy was around, she never let daddy leave the house in such detestable pieces of clothing—in fact, he'd be wearing black, something that truly accentuates his beautiful body." She muttered to her babe who only coughed as he looked up at her, confused by the menu that was blocking his view as he twisted and turned to see past it. "His new lady doesn't seem to mind though—maybe that's why he likes her so much, isn't that right Walt?"

A familiar waitress approached them, pen and paper in hand. Felicia shook her head in silence, an index finger up to her lips. The girl looked confused before her eyes landed on the baby snuggled tight in the carrier bag, and she scurried shyly with a wave of her hand, leaving Felicia to herself once again. With a breath, Felicia shifted to take another look at the her Spider and his partner.

"Daddy's definitely got a type—he's just got a thing for the ordinary." She continued her one-sided conversation with Walt, totally convinced that he understood her. "After all, so much of his life is so extraordinary I suppose he'd want some sort of normalcy every now and then."

She clicked the com in her ear, and listened wistfully to their conversation as the waitress from before came back with a pot of tea. Felicia winked at the girl, eyes evidently focused on the couple four booths from her, and the girl took her shy leave without a word. The door chimed open once again as a man made his way in and took heavy steps towards the counter.

"Thanks for coming out with me today MJ." Peter spoke, giddy and quite abashed as he scratched the back of his neck. "I really could not have done that presentation without you."

He tugged on his long plaid sleeves, a hint of a blush scattered across his cheeks, and Felicia had to smirk— _always the same, aren't you Spider?_

"Aw, I'd do anything for you Pete, you know that."

Walt made a small noise, before blowing a spit bubble, and Felicia had to suppress her laugh.

"Oh, like mother, like son." She muttered, using his small bib to wipe away the sticky mess he'd created. "You don't think Miss Plain is good enough for daddy, don't you Walter?"

"Aba."

He groaned, and Felicia had to freeze her tracks. That was her baby's first word.

"Oh, darling." Her hold on him tightens as he blows raspberries on her chest. "You really do love your father don't you?"

Felicia mumbled, pressing a soft kiss onto Walt's forehead once again. She frowned as she stole a glance at the happy couple.

 _To think your first word would be in the presence of daddy-dearest and he can't even hear it_ —Felicia _allowed_ herself to think that, just for a brief moment.

"There's also something I've been meaning to ask you, MJ."

Peter asked shakily, his face scrunched into that serious note that Felicia hardly ever saw him wear around her—and if he did, she'd poke fun at him and laugh, only to be tackled by him and attacked with hungry kisses and sharp bites on her lips. She didn't complain.

"What is it, Pete?"

Hard to believe that man who ravaged her and taken her laced thong off as she hung blindfolded and upside down from a nest of webs in the corner ceiling of his small student room was the same person as the small little boy with the puppy eyes that was staring up at some red haired chick with that sense of lost entanglement.

 _Pathetic little spider._

"Do you think—is it okay—I mean, do you wanna, get back together with me?"

Felicia nearly spilled the tea she'd just recently brought to her lips at her former lover's sudden audacity.

"What brought this on all of a sudden?"

Miss Plain asked, eyes wide and bright with surprise that a disgusting curl tightened itself inside Felicia's stomach. Walt peered curiously up at his mommy, eyes shining, and lips turned into a frown—you'd almost think he understood.

"Well I've—I've been thinking about it for months now honestly, and I just—it's our senior year MJ." Peter explained breathlessly as he struggled to string together the words that were quickly falling out of his mouth. "We agreed to date other people as soon we broke up after high school because you wanted to focus on your career and I, there were things I needed to focus on myself, but now—"

"Whoa, slow down there Tiger, you'll wear yourself out."

"I'm sorry." Her Spider had the nerve to look shy and sheepish, and Walt, sensing her discomfort, burrowed his face between the bridge of his mother's breasts. "But, you see where I'm getting at, right?"

"Are you saying that it's senior year and you think we're old and mature enough to balance our time between relationships and life?"

"Yeah, that and—I don't want to waste anymore time, MJ." Peter scrambled to explain himself as Felicia grunted as she put down her cup of tea, suddenly feeling—not very tea-like as of that moment. "It's been so long, you know? And I love you MJ, and we always knew we'd get back together again someday, why prolong it?"

"Aba!"

Walt screeched again, this time he also lifted his hand up to gently pat his mother's nose, and Felicia—for the life of her—snapped out of the dainty little conversation, and turned to look down at her precious boy. He was so innocent and clueless as he looked up at his mother with eyes that Felicia could only read as _concerned_.

"After graduation, we can start our lives together, build our careers, and maybe start—you know."

 _Oh you silly girl Felicia, Walter is right—it was my choice to leave Spider behind, I shouldn't get jealous over such petty little things._

"Pete I—"

"I don't want to think about what might happen if I don't do this now. MJ, please? Even just consider it."

 _After all, I've still got the best man with me right here, in my arms._

Felicia lifted Walt up, and helped him out of his carrier bag. Gently she scooped him into a tight hug, and cradled him softly. His head poked out over her shoulder as she tidied away his carrier bag into a fold, small enough to fit into her equipment bag.

"The truth is, Pete—I've considered it for a long time now too. I think it's the perfect time for us to be together again."

The waitress passed Felicia by, and Felicia blessedly dropped a small tip in her pocket. Surprised, the waitress began to stutter, something about not needing any compensation—Felicia silenced her quickly with a hand up and a sly knowing look.

"Yeah—yeah it is."

Felicia heard the slight tremble in her former lover's voice, and she couldn't help but chance a look. His eyes looked glassy and distant, as if he was thinking—thinking of something. Maybe of her, she was not quite sure. She'd like to think he was anyway—and in some late nights after that day, she would stay up staring at her ceiling, and fantasizing about his thoughts of regret, of the big mistake that burdens him, and the heaviness in his heart knowing he'd never see Felicia again. There was a slight thrill there, a spark in her heart over the knowledge that he'd never come close to reaching her no matter how much chase he gave.

"You sound unsure?" Miss Plain caught his slight waver too, and Felicia all the more smirks as she slung her bag behind her and started making sleek steps to the door. "Is everything okay?"

"What—no, I mean, yes—everything's okay. I just, wow—I can't believe it, you know?" Peter explained, much too quick to be honest, and the man from before who'd finished up chatting the lady at the counter begun to make his leave for the door as well. "I just, I didn't think you'd felt the same way all this time."

"Of course I do, Peter." Miss Plain gently placed her hands on top of his fidgety ones on the table, and he looked up to see that always knowing and always reassuring smile she has been known her to wear. "Of course I do."

Felicia walked out of the door, but not before bumping into the man from before. As she looked up, she saw him ready to glare and reprimand her, until he saw the soft baby she carried.

"Oh, sorry m'am."

He spoke hastily, opening the door for her, and Felicia gave him a quick nod, and a peck on the cheek. Peter and MJ paid no attention to the happenings around them as Felicia sauntered her way off the street. Walt peered over Felicia's shoulder, eyes trained on the glass windows dividing him and his father.

"Aba!"

Walt exclaimed, a hand out as if reaching for his father, and Felicia's eyes took one quick glance at the diner before she shook her head.

"Don't worry darling, mommy was just curious." She muttered as she quickly crossed the street and walked briskly to the bus stop from before. "I'm sorry Walt, but it looks like we won't be seeing daddy again, any time soon."

As if understanding her, Walt shrieked and began to cry, leaving Felicia to sigh heavily to herself. It stayed like that the whole way home, and Felicia had almost enough as soon as she crashed in through her apartment door— _literally_.

"Ugh, Walt, please stop crying for mommy."

She groaned as she prepped to she set her baby down on the small couch just by his crib. Something fell and thumped on the floor as soon as she let go of her hold on him.

"That's—curious."

She muttered to herself as she bent down to pick it up, eyes wide as she saw what it was in its all black and small leather glory. Walt looked at her, his crying ceased just a few seconds ago as now he was trying to reach up and grab what his mommy was holding. Felicia's lips tug up to a smile, and all worries and frustration from the day melted away in that one single moment. Her eyes darted from the accused item to her baby's big brown _innocent_ eyes.

"Oh, you naughty boy."

She giggled and pinched his cheeks as Walt scrunched his nose. She stood up, taking Walt in her arms, ready to give her baby a big reward. She tossed the item away to the couch as she made her way into the kitchen. The lights turned off, and a black leather wallet with a single hundred dollar bill note left in its pocket along with an assortment of credit cards stayed welcomed and firmly seated on Felicia's worn out little couch.

"Fuck love, get money."

At least her own child echoed that sentiment.

 **Four.**

 _I miss you._

Walt was one year old when she first discovered he and his supposed father had been more alike. After all, _the apple doesn't fall far from the tree_ —or in this case, _the spider doesn't stray far from the web_. He stuck to things, she noticed—or, she should've noticed. One moment she was picking up his toys scattered all over their carpet floor, the next she was about to turn around to scold him for wondering off, except—he wasn't there, right where she should have left him. Panic never thy name Felicia Hardy, but a little irritable sure—she looked to the side, whistling, and found no trace of her boy. Instead, she heard a soft drooling giggle, and she felt the tip of her nose wet. She looked up, hesitantly—there he was feet carelessly stuck to their ceiling as he stood happily, saliva covered mouth eliciting small and pleasant noises as he made grabby hands at his mother.

She let out a long sigh, hands to her hips as she shook her head.

"So much like that man, aren't you boy?" There was a slight tug on her lips as she raised her hands up, and braced for her kid's fall. "For once, can't you ever just be like your mother."

Walt made a noise that almost sounded like a mocking snort as he unstuck himself from the ceiling, and fell gently into his mother's arms. There was no danger or worry that she might not catch him, his gentle smile all the reassurance she needed know that he trusted her with his life. _Too trusting_ , she thought, _much like that man indeed_. She needed to fix that.

For the first time in a long while, she missed Peter—not _her Spider_ , but _Peter Parker himself_.

"If daddy was here Walt, you'd have someone to teach you—train you."

She grumbled, ruffling his ever growing hair.

Felicia wondered if he ever thought of her—sometimes. She loved her baby so much, but sometimes she got lonely—she might have done everything else alone before, but spider powers really would take the cake. Was she really up for that challenge? Flopping back on her couch with Walt securely tucked in her arms and playing with her hair, she sighed. She digressed—she made the choice, she had to stick to it.

 _But is it such a crime to miss my lover?_

She looked down dutifully at Walt, and smiled.

"Well, I suppose it is better this way."

She'd later find, that really was _not_ the case.


End file.
